


Risky Edge

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Facial Shaving, Kink Bingo 2013, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The little sound Jim gave was disconcerting at best. "You will certainly be shaved and washed before you're allowed into the bed." As though he were a dog who'd come in with muddy paws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risky Edge

Right hand man meant he could be trusted with an extremely long leash, given how much he knew, to execute wild missions. To mark out the dead, and to focus just on the hunt he was given, because a tiny voice in the back of his head said no, no, horrible, bad, leaving Jim alone and at risk, and he'd doubled up his security for the duration.

It was still a relief to get home after fifteen hours on planes. The flat was dark, but it was home, all warmth and a smell that implied someone had been baking recently. He hoped to god it had been anyone except Jim. The fact that the building hadn't burned down was, he thought, a fair sign.

"Hello, darling. Daddy's missed you!"

"Hey. You're still up?" He scrubbed a hand over his eyes as he shut the door behind him.

"Oh, yes." Yes, and not in that way that said he'd been up for days, but yes in a way that implied... something. "You are filthy. And scruffy." Neither of which were words that seemed to please him, either.

"Yeah, travel does that. Got the target." And he was still jittery and excited from it, even twenty-four hours removed from the victory.

"Mmmm." That should have seemed more excited, truly. "They were lovely photos, Basty. I missed you while you were gone." He rose from his chair, all slim elegance, hands fidgety, eyes stroking over every inch of him. "Shame you came home in such a condition."

"I'll shave in the airport next time." Never mind that he hardly had a change of clothes with him, and fuck taking a razor. Traveling at light as possible was key. The less shit he had to declare, the less likely someone was going to go digging through there and find shit they didn't need to see. 

The little sound Jim gave was disconcerting at best. "You will certainly be shaved and washed before you're allowed into the bed." As though he were a dog who'd come in with muddy paws.

"Doesn't sound that bad. Why does it smell like baking?" He leaned in close to Jim, tracking his eyes as he moved.

It at least ought to give him some kind of idea as to what was coming next. "I had someone come in. It smelled like I'd been drinking for three weeks."

"Have you?" It left him concerned, but not so concerned that he moved away from Jim. He always stood fast, even if the man was eyeing his jaw

 

"Does it matter?" Clearly it did, because that meant he might well have gone utterly manic and gone out killing people for fun... or worse. Then again, he hadn't heard of any truly horrible explosions or mass shootings, so maybe the guards had managed to keep him in their line of sight.

That or he was missing a few of them. "Mentally calculating how many people we might be short." He reached a hand out carefully to touch Jim's neck, just lightly at the side. He could feel the tension, the way Jim had clearly spent too much time doing... well. Who the fuck knew.

The crack of that spine was very loud. "You didn't like Harold, anyway."

"I didn't, no." He leaned in, kissed the side of Jim's neck, lowering his hand. "So, better go clean up."

"If you want to fuck me, yes." Or for Jim to fuck him, didn't matter. Six of one, half dozen of another, and JIm was eyeing him in a way that honestly, he could feel It made him nervous.

"Going." He pulled back, because that was a message that was loud and clear for him, that he needed to move his ass and clean up, stat. An unhappy Jim was, well. Fucking bloody frightening.

All of his shit could wait; he could just deal with that later, because right now, he needed to make sure he kept his skin. Most people would be fucking exhausted, dealing with Jim. It just gave him a hardon, and so he headed for the bathroom, dropping clothes behind him in a steady trail.

He could hear Jim kicking them aside as he walked behind him, and that was pretty standard. Jim didn't give two fucks about Sebastian's clothing unless he'd bought it himself, and then he got pretty vicious about it. His travel clothes were low key, low attention, and not purchased by Jim. He hopped a little, stepping out of his shoes and struggling with it as he looked behind him and shit shit that was an angry expression.

Maybe he was going to start shaving before going through customs.

"You don't take proper care of yourself when you're out of my reach, Sebastian." Sing-song, and it didn't sound terrifying. Anyone who didn't know him would doubtless take it for a tease.

Sebastian knew better.

He couldn't muster a sense of alarm, but he did play along as he opened the bathroom door and turned on the light. "I was a little busy killing folks for you, Jim."

"That is not a reasonable excuse for coming home looking as though you've been dragged backwards through a hedge." Snark was good; it edged things out of danger close and into something different. "This is what I get for getting a live in one."

"It is," Sebastian agreed, because arguing was futile as he stopped on front of the mirror and scruffed a hand through his hair to wake up a little. 

Crap. He was tired and he'd been traveling for what felt like years. He felt grimy, his bum knee twinged from waiting so long to make the shot, and his dick was so hard he could probably pound nails with it.

"Don't sass me." God alone knew where that phrase had come from. Maybe he'd been reading Faulkner while Sebastian had been gone. Whatever the case, Jim pushed him onto the toilet seat and began to dig in the medicine cabinet.

He stretched his legs out, feeling groggy and disoriented as he tracked Jim with his eyes. "Are you planning on shaving me?"

Flat black gaze, and huh. It couldn't possibly be normal that just the sight of it turned him on even more. "Yes. What a stupid question." He turned back to digging in the cabinet. Shaving lotion, yes, stupidly expensive aftershave, check...

Whoa.

Gigantic fucking straight razor, antique wooden handle, and it was gleaming and clean in a way that made Sebastian feel suspicious. "Sometimes I just have to ask."

There was no denying the way that Jim smiled, the touch of mania there making Sebastian suppress a shudder. Sometimes, he wondered about himself. Who the fuck let a lunatic like James Moriarty within ten feet of them with a straight razor? Never mind the idiot who tilted back his chin and smiled at him.

He was damn well going to find out who'd let Jim _acquire_ it in his absence, though. "Okay. Sounds like a good idea."

Whatever the case, Jim seemed mollified; he laid down the razor and picked up the shaving lotion before settling himself astride Sebastian and beginning to stroke the lotion over his face and down his throat. "Yes. I thought so. I'm afraid that Harold would disagree."

"Now that explains what happened to Harold." Sebastian leaned into Jim a little, kept his motions relaxed as he watched him. Hopefully it didn't end with his throat slit; Jim was, after all, wearing his favorite pair of trousers for around the house, and Sebastian could feel the answering erection whenever Jim brushed against him.

"Harold is going to be found missing a few things, I'm afraid." The lotion was done, and Jim reached down and smeared the remainder on Sebastian's chest before reaching for the razor. "Hold still, darling."

"Hmmm." He held still, breathing slowly through his nose as he kept his eyes on the razor Jim was wielding.

It was impossible to keep a proper eye on it, not when Jim started near his right cheek. Best he could do was to watch the vague tiny reflection in the sheen of Jim's left eye, and try not to jump. "Oh. That is nice. Yes, a very good blade, this."

Clearly it was if he'd tested it on Harold with a bit of dismemberment.

Fuck, holding still was arse, and he was trying not to squirm as he felt the blade scrape down his beard. Jim's tongue was lightly bitten between his teeth, his pulse clearly picking up beneath the thin skin of his throat, and he just had to keep still. Somehow. "Ohhh, yes." Yes, and then there was the faintest nick, and a wide-eyed look of lying apology. "Oops."

He could almost smell the blood, even if it was a light bare suggestion of a nick. It was all in his imagination of course. "Fuck."

"Sorry, darling." Not at all sorry, not even a little bit, and he leaned in and ran his tongue across the cut, humming. "Mmm. Salty."

It had to taste like shaving lotion as well. He tilted his head back a little, and hummed quietly as he enjoyed the slide of Jim's tongue, the way he shifted and finally slipped it into Sebastian's mouth for just a moment before pulling back, nose wrinkled with distaste. "Still scruffy."

Yeah, and the blade was still in his hand. Christ, he was a sick, sick man, that an open blade in the hands of a maniac didn't so much as make him flinch.

"I come from a family of ruggedly hairy men." And if he was lucky, he was going to escape with his crotch hair intact. Fuck only knew what Jim might do down there. It didn't bear consideration.

The scrape of the blade began again, caressing the curve of his jaw line. "I had noticed." Indeed, and had complained on more than one occasion that he'd gotten rug burn from the pressure of Sebastian's chest after a good fuck. "I prefer you clean shaven, at least from the neck up." He might have opened Pandora's box with that statement. Shit.

It was just something he was going to live with, and he kept his head still while the man dragged the blade clean from one edge of his jaw to the other.

Things seemed okay. Jim had settled into a rhythm, and Sebastian could almost feel him calming down until he came to the last swipe and he paused, looking up at him, eyes hot. "You have no idea how good it felt."

"To shave me?" Or butchering Harold, or.... it was hard to guess, but he grinned at Jim as he asked it, and reached a hand up to touch bared skin.

"To watch him die." Jim licked his lower lip and then bit into it, half-stifling a smile. "You can never leave me, Sebastian. It's too late now. You're my live-in one."

"Never thought of leaving." Sebastian dropped his hands to Jim's sides, loosely clinging as he kissed him back. The razor was, sickeningly, less of a danger to Jim than Jim himself, and he wasn't so much worried about himself. He heard it when it hit the floor, made note of where it landed, and shoved that thought back for a more convenient time. Jim was hot and determined, pressed against him. That. That was so good.

Hot and bothered by him being smooth skinned and clean again, a lapful of angry psychopath while he sat on the toilet seat.

No matter how long he lived -- or how short, all things considered -- Sebastian was fairly certain it didn't get any better than this.


End file.
